Gerri and Joe DeLamielleure have been married for 41 years. They met as small children so this is literally true and not an exaggeration: Neither can remember not knowing the other. For Gerri, the thought of watching her husband, this person she has known for as long as she has memories, fall apart due to concussions—as so many former football players have fallen apart—is horrifying.

"It’s a terrible way to live. You’re thinking, ‘I’ve got a train headed in my direction, I just don’t know when it’s coming,’" she says.

That train arrived in Junior Seau's family’s life in May, when the former NFL linebacker shot himself in the chest. On Thursday, the National Institutes of Health reported that Seau suffered from CTE—chronic traumatic encephalopathy—a type of brain damage common in people who suffered repeated head injuries.

His family told reporters that they recognize the symptoms—mood swings, irrationality, memory loss, sleeplessness and depression—now, after the fact. They said they wish they had recognized the problems sooner.

Many family members of ex-NFL players see those symptoms in their loved ones every day. They worry it will soon be their turn to stand in front of that train that has ruined so many lives in recent years.

Every time news like this comes out—and even when it doesn’t—Dawn Neufeld worries about her husband, Ryan, who played seven seasons for the Bills, Jaguars and Cowboys. He has symptoms of post-concussion syndrome. “What’s going to happen five years from now?” she says. “Where’s his frame of mind going to be 10 years from now?”

It’s bad enough now: “The reality is he’s scared to death.”

So is she. So is Gerri. And they’re not alone. A survey of 125 former NFL players conducted by Sporting News last year found a startling 70 percent live in fear of losing their minds. If wives were polled, that number would be even higher. They see firsthand their husbands’ disintegration, often recognizing it before they do.

But even recognizing the problems doesn’t always help. Many former players either won’t ask for help or couldn’t afford it if they did. “I feel like we’ve got a lot of work to do,” Dawn Neufeld says.” Junior won’t be the last, unfortunately, and that’s what makes me so sad.”

The “Am I next?” question worries all of them, even more so since Seau’s death.

Dawn Neufeld knew Seau well. “He had it all. And if it can happen to him, what about all those guys who only played a couple of years, who didn’t have all that money in the bank, who didn’t have the resources? And it’s just as difficult, if not harder, for these guys to get through it. I think about the guys who played in the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s before they started making big money. They’re in trouble.”

She means guys like DeLamielleure, a 61-year-old Hall of Fame offensive lineman. With a chest like a brick wall and arms and legs like tree stumps, he’s in great physical shape. While CTE can’t be diagnosed in a living person, he has the tell-tale symptoms and the violent football background that causes it.

He played 13 years in the NFL and constantly used his head as a battering ram. One estimate put the number of hits he endured at 215,000. “You don’t think I’m frightened?” Gerri says. “That’s a huge number.”

DeLamielleure’s concussion-related problems include hearing loss, sleeplessness, depression and short-term memory problems. But compared to many of his friends, he’s fine.

“He’s pretty good, but I don’t know what’s coming tomorrow,” Gerri DeLamielleure says. “Am I missing something now? He’s got a shorter fuse than he’s ever had. Is that a point I should be concerned about it?”

The result of the NIH’s study of Seau’s brain is important in a scientific sense. It’s better to know Seau had CTE than to speculate about it. But in the insulated world of former players and their wives, it was a foregone conclusion. They didn’t need to look at his brain under a microscope to know something was wrong with him. His devolution from the “happiest, easiest-going person you could ever imagine,” as Neufeld called him, to the dark, moody man who committed suicide had to be caused by something. The NIH study merely confirmed what they already knew.

There is a sense that because Seau was famous, and other former players who committed suicide were not, he will become the face of the concussion problem, and perhaps good will come of that. It’s not clear yet whether that will ultimately happen. But this is indisputable: His death hit former players and their families hard—far harder than any other event in the NFL’s years-long head trauma crisis.

It’s still hitting them today.

Catherina Watters, the wife of former NFL running back Ricky Watters, is a lawyer who handles disability claims for former NFL players. All of her clients have suffered brain injuries. When Seau killed himself, three former players called her husband that day, looking for her number.

She finds herself on the phone with former players often, asking them personal questions, questions others don’t think of asking them. She knows what their problems are, so she knows what questions to ask to find them. She also knows to wait them out. The interviews start off with the men feigning strength. But by the end of the hour, when the truth about his problems has come out, she has to try to keep herself together. These are her husband’s friends and peers. She takes their problems personally.

After the news came out about Seau today, she got three calls from former players. By the end of the day, she was overwhelmed. She hopes the trains haven’t arrived for them.